


Everlasting Rain

by TwisterMelody



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Kid Fic, Kid Mycroft, Kid Sherlock, Kidlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 12:34:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwisterMelody/pseuds/TwisterMelody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft makes a promise to his new baby brother that he intends to keep throughout his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everlasting Rain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [speckledhound](https://archiveofourown.org/users/speckledhound/gifts).



> Written for Let's Write Sherlock: Challenge 3!  
> Prompt: Write a story inspired by a piece of music.  
> Inspired by the song "You'll Be In My Heart" by Phil Collins.  
> Also written for my friend Kristina, who happens to love kidlock :)  
> Enjoy!

The wind whistled and rattled against the windows in the dark February night as a young Mycroft Holmes tossed and turned endlessly in his bed. As the howling of the wind grew louder, the young freckle faced boy let out a frustrated sigh and buried his head underneath his pillow, his dark red hair becoming more ruffled with each movement. It was well past three in the morning, and he'd been trying to sleep for some time with no such luck. Suddenly, the wailing cry of his baby brother could be heard coming from down the hall of the large house in which he lived.  He waited patiently as one of the maids would usually step in to calm the crying infant, but no one came. Not wanting to hear his little brother cry, he decided to take the matter into his own hands.  
  
He let his bare feet touch the cold hardwood floor with a wince before quietly slipping through his bedroom door. He walked slowly down the long hallway into his brother's room and peered into the wooden crib. From the glow of the moonlight, he could see the one month old laying there with his blankets kicked off, letting out cries so high pitched that Mycroft physically flinched at the sound. His dark hair that curled wildly at the ends had become a mess from thrashing around, and his tiny fists were balled up with displeasure. Being only seven and a half himself, he knew he wasn't supposed to hold the baby, not without supervision, that is. He thought about going to get the maid or perhaps his Mother, but he didn't dare take the chance of waking his Father. Looking down at the pained expression on the baby's face, he made his choice.  
  
On his tiptoes, he lowered the side of the crib as quietly as he could, being thankful for the noise of the wind outside. He quickly pulled the blankets around the young baby and carefully picked him up in his arms, swaying him slightly. He walked over to the big window of his brother's room  to get a better look at him.  
  
"Shh," Mycroft cooed softly, "it's alright, Sherlock. I'm here. I've got you."  
  
The cries quieted into a babble as the infant blinked opened his impossibly bright grey-blue eyes and stared at him with wonder. Mycroft smiled down at him and bounced him lightly in his arms. It was the first time he'd ever been able to be with his brother alone, as he was usually closely guarded by his parents or servants. He carefully shifted his arms, holding the baby with one and bringing his hand of the other in front of his face. A tiny pale hand immediately reached out and grasped his forefinger tightly, staring at it as if to inspect it. The young boy let out a soft giggle at the gesture as his chest expanded with warmth.  
  
"I'm going to be the best big brother ever, Sherlock," he whispered in an promising voice. Sherlock pulled on his finger more insistently. "That's right," he continued, "I'll always be right here, I promise."  
  
The little baby scrunched up his nose before closing his eyes. Within moments, he was asleep once more, hand still wrapped tightly around Mycroft's finger. Mycroft stood at the window for a long time that night, peering down at his brother in wonder with the moonlight streaming in upon their faces. The wind continued to rattle long after he put Sherlock back in his crib, and long after he finally fell into a peaceful sleep in his own bed.  
  
Growing up, Mycroft immediately took up the position of being Sherlock's protector, so to speak. He kept him out of harms way as he grew into a ball of energy as a toddler, and would often take the blame to keep him out of trouble. He felt it was his duty as a big brother to do so.  
  
When Mycroft was eleven or so, four year old Sherlock had taken a liking to all things having to do with pirates. He would run around their expansive yard to collect things he thought of value for a treasure chest, and asked to be read stories about them at bedtime. Mycroft and Sherlock's parents didn't go along with the vivid imagination of the young boy, opting to be completely dismissive of the whole thing. His Father had taken away his chest of precious treasures and hidden his book from him, in fact. Mycroft, however, saw no harm in the matter. As long as they were alone, he encouraged his little brother to be what he wanted. It was their little secret.  
  
Mycroft had taken to reading to Sherlock outside one cloudy spring day. He sat with his back pressed against a large oak tree, his younger brother seated between his legs, reading ' _Treasure Island_ ' aloud to him. Sherlock's eyes grew wide along with an uncontrollable grin the more Mycroft read to him. He eventually whipped his head around to flash a winning smile at him, wild dark curls falling over his forehead.  
  
"When I get big like you," Sherlock started as he twisted away and stood up, "I'm gonna have my own ship! And there will be gold! And a parrot!" He shot out his arms and grinned enthusiastically before he began running around.  
  
Mycroft chuckled lightly as he closed the book and set it aside, glancing at the sky. The clouds above them had began to grow darker, and he wondered if they should be heading back home. Their land extended far wider than either of the boys could tell, and it was a trek to get back inside from where they were. The wind began to rustle the newly bloomed leaves of the trees around them, even managing to twist the grass they stood on. He became aware of Sherlock babbling somewhere near him, but he didn't look to see. He began pulling the things together that they'd brought outside, including his schoolwork, ready to take himself and his brother in due to the weather. He was abruptly pulled from his thought process when he heard a wailing cry. He dropped his things and whipped his body around only to be met with the seemingly empty yard.  
  
"Sherlock!" he called out, heart pounding in his chest as he began to run towards the sound. The crying got louder until he finally found Sherlock behind a few tall bushes. He lay on the ground clutching his newly bloodied knee as tears streamed from his eyes. Mycroft immediately dropped down next to him. "What happened?" He asked carefully as he began to inspect the injury.  
  
Sherlock sniffled. "I was trying to be a pirate, like in the stories, but..." he trailed off.  
  
Mycroft fixed his eyes upon his brother's face and followed his gaze. About a foot from them, a large jagged rock poked from the grass, blood on its sharp edges. Sherlock had scraped up his knee pretty badly, but the embarrassment of what had happened was probably more painful than the injury, Mycroft decided. At that moment, the skies decided to open up as rain came pouring down. Mycroft stood and quickly shed the jacket he was wearing and pulled it on top of and around Sherlock, hoisting the hurt little boy in his arms. Sherlock's arms pulled tightly around his neck, and if Mycroft felt the hot tears mixing with the cold rain upon his shirt, he didn't dare mention it.  
  
"Time to get you cleaned up, and then we'll have a treat, hmm?" Mycroft asked as he carried his brother on the trek through the rain, the rest of his items long forgotten about. His clothes became soaked within minutes, save for where Sherlock was clinging to him, Mycroft's jacket keeping him dry.  
  
Sherlock nodded against his neck. "You won't tell Father what I was doing?" he asked quietly.  
  
Mycroft adjusted Sherlock, hugging him tighter as he walked them through the mud. "Why on earth would I do that?" At that moment, he could have sworn he felt a smile against him.  
  
A few days had passed after that before the incident was spoken of again for the last time. Mycroft had managed to get his hands on another copy of the book, but his schoolwork was at a loss. He was in his room finishing up his assignments when Sherlock came bounding into his room.  
  
"Mycroft! Look!" Sherlock exclaimed excitedly. He held his arms stretched out before him, hands offering up a gift.  
  
Mycroft knitted his eyebrows together. "What's this for?"  
  
Sherlock gave him a lopsided grin as he placed the gift in his brother's lap. It was a large black umbrella with a beautifully crafted wooden handle. "So you won't get wet when it rains like last time! I got it for you when I went with Mummy to the shops!"  
  
Mycroft's mouth opened slightly. "How did you buy this?"  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "With my birthday money, silly." He grinned up at him again. "You like it?"  
  
A warmth came over Mycroft as he smiled at his younger brother, a hand ruffling through his messy curls. "Yes Sherlock, I love it," he said fondly.  
  
Sherlock stood on his tiptoes and whispered, "Promise?"  
  
Mycroft nodded and whispered back, "I'll keep it forever, I swear."  
  
Sherlock grinned at him and ran out of the room with a giggle. Mycroft took a long look at his gift and placed it carefully against his desk before getting back to work. It was never spoken of again.  
  
More time passed by as Mycroft grew into a young gentleman, while Sherlock became more of a loose cannon. They both excelled in school, for which their parents were proud. But, Sherlock had trouble with nearly everything else, it seemed. He grew bored of usual childhood things, wishing to focus solely on a few points of interest. He spoke out at dinner which never ended well, and became completely against every rule set for him. He hadn't managed to make a friend, either.  
  
At age fifteen, Mycroft was making his way to his room one day when he heard frustrated muttering coming from Sherlock's room. With the age and attitude differences, they had grown apart a bit as brothers. But, that never stopped Mycroft from checking up on him to make sure he was alright, and it never would. He slowly opened the door and found Sherlock on his bed, knees pulled closely to his chest, and his eyes fixated on the rain streaming down his window.  
  
"Go away, Mycroft," he commanded quietly.  
  
Mycroft disobeyed the instruction and sat next to him on the bed. Knowing though he wsn't wanted, he was needed, and he intended to be there when needed.  
  
"Sherlock -" be began, but was immediately cut off.  
  
"I'm weird, aren't I!" Sherlock cried out. "That's what they say, all of them. That I'm a freak and a loser! They're right, aren't they?" Sherlock stared at him with such raw, open emotion that he hadn't seen in years, eyes full of hurt.  
  
"Why do you care what they think, Sherlock?" Mycroft asked softly. "Those other children in your class - why should it upset you that they've come up with a misinformed opinion?" Mycroft shook his head. "You've got to stop caring about what other people say or do, and worry about yourself instead."   
  
Sherlock's mouth formed into a deep frown. "I don't understand," he said, "why can't people just see things? Like we do. They're almost blind and then they get mad when they're told!"  
  
Mycroft sighed. He knew what Sherlock had meant, of course. They possessed what many would call a gift, but what they might call a curse. No detail had ever gone unnoticed, and other people shied away from that. "People are afraid of what they don't understand - what they don't _want_ to understand," he explained "so they react with either fear or anger, and they lash out." He gave him a little smile. "They're probably idiots anyway."  
  
Sherlock let out a small laugh as he wiped his nose with his shirt sleeve. "You think so?"  
  
"I know so." Mycroft gave him a pat on the knee before getting up to leave the room. Sherlock failed at hiding a satisfied smirk ad he turned his attention back towards the steady rainfall. Mycroft said nothing, but he smiled as he left the room.  
  
By the time Mycroft was eighteen and ready to leave home, Sherlock had become a rambunctious eleven year old. He still hadn't made a friend, and in the weeks prior, he had greatly infuriated their Father with his loud deductions of his apparent affair. After reprimandations, Sherlock had started closing himself off to anyone who came near him, and trusted no one. He would often be in his room, rummaging through newspapers and reading thick textbooks. Mycroft was worried about him, and worried about leaving him alone at the very least. Though they weren't as close as they could have been, Mycroft was still all that Sherlock had, really.  
  
Mycroft had packed most of his things into suitcases and hauled them out into the car when he began his round of goodbyes. He saved Sherlock for last, quietly walking into his room and standing over him as he read on his bed.  
  
"Yes, you're leaving, fine," Sherlock said as he dismissively waved his hand, eyes never leaving his textbook.  
  
Mycroft ignored him as he usually did and seated himself beside him anyway. "Sherlock, I know it's tough, and it's going to be tough for a while," he said. "But you'll get through this, brother. I assure you." He paused and waited for some sort of response, but none came. Sherlock was still intensely focused on his book. "And I'm sorry I can't be here, but it's time for me to go," he said quietly as he glanced around the room, a book title catching his eye on the shelf. "In time... You can be whatever you want, you know," he assured him with a small smile as he stared at the rain damaged book from years ago.  
  
He sat there for a few more moments before deciding to leave the room. "This rain won't last forever," he spoke quietly on his way out, acknowledging his brother's situation, one he'd been in for years if he was honest. Sherlock merely grunted in return. He made his way out to the car when he heard footsteps running after him. He turned to see Sherlock chasing him down, Mycroft's black umbrella in his hand.  
  
"It _does_ rain at your school," Sherlock stated before adding in, "idiot."  
  
"Of course," he grinned. Mycroft took his umbrella and ruffled Sherlock's hair one last time before getting into the car. Sherlock scrunched up his face at him in displeasure and went back inside without saying another word.  
  
Years passed quickly into their adulthood, and Mycroft never gave up his promises made so long ago. Even though Sherlock didn't want his help, Mycroft tried to intervene when he could, doing his best to keep him out of danger's path. He had nearly failed a couple of times, and had never wanted it to happen again. Though he had the pleasure of knowing many people, his brother would always be the most important person in his life, whether he would admit it or not.  
  
The night John Watson came into Sherlock's life, he saw an instant change in his brother. Unnoticed by the casual viewer, yes, but he knew better. While he was fairly certain of John's character, he upped surveillance on the two of them, just in case. After all was said and done that evening, he sat in the backseat of his sleek car, breathing a sigh of relief.  
  
It may have taken a while, but Sherlock had gotten exactly what he both wanted and needed, whether he realized it or not. Mycroft ran his fingers over the wooden handle of his umbrella and the memories it brought with it, including the smile of a bright eyed child with wild curls. After all the years that had passed, that night was the first time he'd seen that smile in what seemed like forever.  
  
The everlasting rain had finally come to an end.


End file.
